A/N: Hello peeps! Before we get to your regularly scheduled programming, there's something I need to discuss with you, something important. I don't think it'll come as a shock to any of you when I say that interest in R/M stories seems to be faltering and declining rapidly. And it's not just with the readers; I, too, as a writer, would much rather be penning stories for other couples, such as my current obsession Liason. To be blunt, the only reason I'm still writing for R/M is you guys – my loyal, faithful, supportive readers. Plus, I think El might lynch me if I stopped completely. :P With that said, though, my interest is waning quickly, and I'm going to cut back. After this story is complete, I'll be moving on to the new flash fic, and I'll probably continuing writing flash fic for a while. It's one thing to pen a short, one hour post every week, but it's a whole different story to plan out intricate, detail oriented, full length fics. I want to focus that degree of effort on my other stories. I know many of you aren't going to like this decision, but let's look at it from a different perspective as well. Someday, hopefully soon, I WILL get a real job; someone will want to hire me, and, when they do, who knows what kind of free time I'll have on my hands, and, when this does occur, I will not be focusing my extracurricular writing activities on R/M. I'll be writing for General Hospital characters and perhaps dipping my quill into other shows as well. With that said, I want to thank all of you for sticking with me all of these years, for always being there to read a chapter and to offer either praise or constructive criticism, and to thank you for, hopefully, remaining with me into the future. I'm by no means done with Ryan and Marissa yet, but they are fading from my mind slowly but surely. Also, I'm sick of writing one shots. LOL (About damn time, right?) So, although we're still currently in the middle of Will to Leave, if you're willing to vote, I'm ready to tally. Your choices for continuation are as follows: Arresting Chemistry, Gone, To Hell in an Hermes Birkin, Killing Him Softly, Party Favors, Day of a New Dawn, and Class Distinctions. You can either place your vote here or email it to me. The final tally will be counted next Friday, April 4th, and, then, the new flash fic story will be announced. Both the votes at LJ and FF will be relevant to this selection process. Happy voting! Now, without further ado and alienation, here's the next post for this ongoing story. Enjoy!

Charlynn

Chapter Nine

She had never been one to have a feeling, to just know something to be true so deep inside of her that there was no denying the instinct's validity, but, no sooner had Summer arrived back at her own apartment, when she felt the need to see Marissa. She didn't know why, but she feared that something was wrong, and she knew that there would be no rest for her that evening unless she tried to contact her friend. So, she called her.

There was no answer on her cell phone; it went immediately to voice mail.

The land line at the apartment had simply continued to ring and ring and ring until the operator intervened and disconnected the call.

In one final, last ditch effort, she got online, emailed her friend, and then looked to see if she was chatting. Although the brunette hadn't been expecting to find Marissa lurking in cyberspace, she had hoped she would be there. But, like she had been prepared for, there was no sign of the mom-to-be.

Justifiably worried, the stylist left her home again. The only convenient aspect of the entire evening was the fact that she hadn't yet had the chance to take off her shoes, so she was already set to go. Catching a cab outside her building, she harried the driver to go faster, to pass other slow vehicles, to, in general, make the already hectic avenues and streets of New York City a virtual bedlam of chaos. Much to her chagrin but probably lucky for her life and the lives of others, he had ignored her request for speed and, ten minutes after she had first climbed into the back seat of the yellow car, had deposited her safely at the sidewalk in front of Marissa's chic Manhattan apartment building.

There were other people in the lobby when she arrived. Men and women returning from a day out in the city, kids milling about waiting for their friends to meet them so they could go out to the movies or a club or a concert, and there were also several tenants checking their mail boxes for one last pile of bills and letters, invoices and invitations before everything official, including the US Government, shut down for Sunday and a day of rest… not that many individuals, herself included, took that idea to heart themselves. It wasn't until she saw an elderly man, a man who, at the very least had to be in his late seventies if not eighties, approach the door to the stairwell that she actually took notice of any one single person in particular.

Rushing over to the gentleman, she stopped him from leaving the lobby by asking, "sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but is there something wrong with the elevators?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he answered thoughtfully, "and, as the building supervisor, I would be the first person informed if there was a problem. I just personally prefer the stairs."

"Oh," the young woman breathed out, her brow puckering with slight confusion at his confession.

"The name's Bernie," he offered her, holding out a hand.

"Summer," she returned.

"Well, then, Summer, it was nice to meet you, but, rest assured, this building's elevators are just fine. You're not going to get stuck in them."

"That's good to know, because I have a feeling what's going to greet me at the top floor isn't going to be pretty, so I might be coming right back down, friend in tow."

This time it was his turn to say, "oh."

"Yeah, I'm normally not one for intuition and all that new age malarkey…"

"Malarkey?"

"…But I've got this feeling in the pit of my stomach – it's kind of a cross between a really bad hangover and homesickness, and I just know that there's something wrong with Marissa. That's my friend," she clarified for the super's benefit. "She's the one who lives here, on the penthouse floor actually. I'm here to see her… again. I was just here about an hour or so ago, so… yeah."

"Walk with me," the older man requested, holding open the door to the stairwell. "While, at first, it might not seem like the quickest way to do this, if you're going to need to help Marissa, you're probably going to need my keys to get into her apartment. We'll pass by my place on the way up to hers, so come along," he instructed her, nodding her into motion in effort to quicken Summer's pace.

"So, then, you know Marissa?"

"I'm the building supervisor. I know everyone who lives here, but, yes, I also know Marissa, and I know exactly why you're worried about her. I thought she had a chance of finally getting away from Mr. Meriden when that nice fellow Atwood was coming around here a while back, but he's seemed to have disappeared, and Marissa's still with that louse of a fiancé of hers."

"Ryan," the brunette grumbled, slightly pouting. "He ran back to California with his tail between his legs, couldn't hack here any longer."

"Don't judge Mr. Atwood too harshly," Bernie chastised her. "While it might be hard to watch your friend being hurt, it's even harder to watch someone you love go through the same thing. It makes a man feel helpless, like he's out of control, and, really, there wasn't anything he could have done for her here except wait and hope that she finally made her mind up to help herself."

"Yeah, but at least his presence gave her hope," she contradicted. "And trust me," the artistic director pressed. "Being pregnant, she could sure use the hope now."

"Excuse me? Did you just say that Marissa's pregnant? Oh no," the super sighed heavily, stopping momentarily to collect himself. "This is not good."

"Of course it's good," Summer argued. "In fact, it's great! Babies are so cute and cuddly, and they smell good. And, while, sure, they don't do much besides eat, and sleep, and poop for the first few months, you can still dress them up, and isn't that half the fun of parenthood?"

"I didn't mean that babies in general aren't wonderful," the building supervisor clarified, "because they are, but, in Marissa's case, this child, by no means, was planned, and it's entering a home that is unstable at best, unhealthy at worst. How familiar are you with cases of domestic violence?"


"Ugh, I basically grew up in a sheltered, pretty, pretty pink bubble. How familiar do you think I am?"

"Point taken," Bernie admitted before continuing. "Often abusers are possessive. While they might not necessarily love their significant others, they're obsessed with them, think that they own them. A baby, to Mr. Meriden, would mean that not all of Marissa's attention would be placed upon him any longer. The child would become competition, and he wouldn't be able to handle that. My guess is that he will do whatever he can to get rid of the baby by any means possible." Taking hold of the brunette's arms, he aligned Summer so that she was facing him, looking him in the eyes when he asked her his next question. "Was Mr. Meriden there when you left Marissa at the penthouse an hour ago?"

Immediately, the stylist answered, "no," her voice resolute and firm, but then doubt started to creep its way past her defenses. "I mean, I didn't see him. He never told us that he was there, and Marissa thought he was at work, but I guess he could have been. Maybe he was hiding…"

"My apartment is 12B," the graying man informed her, shoving his own personal set of keys into her grasp. "Take the elevator up, go inside, and, right when you first walk in, there is a set of hooks with every single set of keys to this building. Grab the ones for Marissa's penthouse, and then continue your way upstairs to her. Give me your cell phone before you go," he asked of her, holding out his hand, "and I'll place the call to 911 on my way up to meet you. If we're wrong and nothing has happened to Marissa, then we'll call them back and apologize for the misunderstanding, but I highly doubt we're wrong, and I'd rather they be here as fast as possible than be 100 sure before calling them. Can you do this?"

"I can do this."

With that, she turned around and exited the stairwell. They were on the fourth floor, and she immediately located the elevator. The car seemed to move slowly, too slowly, as if every floor it passed on the way to the twelfth took a century, and, as time passed, Summer's fear for her friend only grew exponentially. She was worried not only about Marissa's health and safety but also about her state of mind. If Tanner did something to the baby, she wasn't sure her friend would be able to recover. While she didn't know everything or really, to be honest, much of anything about situations concerning abuse, she knew that a person could reach bottom, and, without something to will them to fight back, they could remain there for the rest of their lives. It happened to addicts, it happened to people who suffered an extreme loss, and it happened to people who somehow, somewhere along the way, lost themselves.

Just as Bernie had instructed her, she let herself into his cluttered and very kitschy apartment. In her haste to locate the correct set of keys, she knocked off of the hooks several other sets, but she knew the elderly man wouldn't mind, and she never bothered to stop and pick them up. Instead, she raced back to the lift and proceeded to make her way to the top floor, tapping her foot the entire ride up in an agitated effort to expel all her nervous energy. Of course, it didn't work, and, by the time she let herself into the penthouse, she was wound tighter than a top.

Calling out for her friend as she made her way through the cavernous space, her voice echoing off the barren and uninviting walls, she waited for a response, but none was given. Eventually, she entered the master bedroom and saw immediately why only silence had greeted her in the high-rise apartment.


Collapsing onto her knees beside the prone figure, she gasped, "oh my god." It was worse than she thought, and her first reaction was an instantaneous dread that Marissa was dead. Reaching out a quivering hand, she touched the blonde's neck, searching for, willing for there to be a pulse. She sighed when she found one, weak though it was. Summer knew that there was nothing she could really do for her friend until the EMT's arrived, but she didn't like feeling helpless, so, to be proactive, to maybe, somehow, provide the injured woman with a shred of hope, she lifted one of her cold, fragile hands and held it between both of her own, leaning forward to whisper comforting, encouraging words of reassurance.

It didn't matter that Marissa was unconscious. All the doctors on the medical shows Summer had watched both as a teenager growing up and even still to that day as an adult told their patients' loved ones to talk to their comatose parents, spouses, sibling, children, friends, or whatever the relation might be, and, even though those shows weren't real, the advice made sense to the brunette stylist. And it didn't matter that the knees of her 275 dollar jeans were resting in her friend's pooled blood. Sure, the pants would be ruined, but, even if the red reminders of Marissa's pain and loss could be washed away, Summer knew the stains of that day would forever haunt her.

What if, instead of taking the blonde home, she had insisted upon going out for a celebratory dinner?

What if she had denied her wish to return back to the penthouse, maintaining that her friend had to stay with her until they could find her another apartment, far away from Tanner?

What if she would have been able to sense the impending doom when she had first dropped Marissa off? If she had stayed, would Tanner have postponed his abuse, or would he have simply turned on her as well?

Startling her out of her thoughts, a gentle hand was placed upon her shoulder. "This is not your fault, Summer," Bernie whispered softly, his mature, knowing voice somewhat calming her frantic apprehension. "The EMT's have arrived. They'll be here in just a moment. You should ride with her to the hospital."

"No," she argued, still maintaining her position beside her unconscious friend. "You ride along. I'll catch a cab or, hell, I can even run behind the ambulance if they go slow enough, and, considering this is Manhattan on a Saturday night, the chances of them breaking the land speed record are slim to none." Rambling on, she continued, "besides, even though I'm pretty tiny, I have excellent lung capacity, and, no offense, but you're already probably winded from climbing all those stairs, so you should ride…"

"She's going to be alright," he assured her, squeezing her shoulder once again. "No matter what, we'll make sure that she survives this, okay? But you really need to go with her to the hospital. Trust me, you'll be better at this sort of thing than some crusty widow like myself, but I promise you that I'll get there just as fast as I can, alright?"

"If you insist…"

"I do, Summer," the older gentleman stated with conviction. "I do."



She did not like to be summoned.

Not only did she have to fly across the country on absolutely no notice, but she had also been interrupted just as she was about to get ready for a date. So, she had to cancel her plans, call the airport to book a seat on the next departing flight to New York City, and she had to rush around getting ready for her emergency trip just because her eldest daughter had managed to somehow get herself in the hospital. Julie didn't know the details, but what she did know was that nothing could have been serious enough to warrant such hasty behavior, to warrant being summoned by a stranger. If Marissa needed her so badly, why wasn't Tanner the one trying to reach her? Why wasn't her future son-in-law as frantic as the woman she had talked to on the phone a few hours before? And why the hell hadn't there been a car waiting for her at the airport to take her to the hospital?

Instead, she had to waste valuable time, time she could have put to use getting some sleep in preparation for her impromptu visit to the city and all the shopping that was sure to come because of it, finding a cab, and, then, to add insult to injury, she had to endure a ride from JFK into Manhattan in the back of a dirty, smelly car while her driver spoke very little English. It was disgraceful and, quite frankly, embarrassing, and she was bound and determined to inform little Miss Summer Roberts, whom she assumed to be Tanner's new personal assistant, just how much she didn't appreciate her inconsideration.

Fluttering in through the emergency room, she located a staff member and directed them towards her luggage. "Take care of these for me," she demanded, without even an ounce of etiquette or appreciation. "And find me a room, too. Make it something upscale, won't you?"

It didn't matter to the redhead that the man she had so dismissively given her orders to was a registered nurse. She was the mother of Tanner Meriden's fiancée, and she felt entitled to a little special treatment. With heels clicking out a pointed march, she made her way towards the elevators and followed the directions the impertinent girl had given her over the phone. Go to the third floor, obstetrics and gynecology, make two lefts, go past the nurses' desk, and your daughter's room will be located on the right hand side, seventh door down. That was it – no I'll have someone waiting for you or would you like to check into your hotel room first and then come visit Marissa in the morning, and, if it was the last thing Julie did before she went back to California, she was going to make sure the woman was fired.

"Let's get this over with," she announced without preamble, shoving the slightly cracked door to room 428 completely open. Inside, she found her daughter in a hospital bed, apparently sleeping and looking perfectly fine if not slightly pale – she'd have to remind her to make sure she kept her tanning appointments, a couple hospital staff members, one of which appeared to be a doctor, presumably Marissa's doctor, and a young girl, approximately her daughter's age, with dark hair and eyes. Immediately, she knew the girl to be the insolent Summer she had spoken with on the phone, and it didn't surprise her at all that the girl was a brunette. Julie had always had a mistrust for brunettes.

"Tell me what Marissa's done now, so I can get out of here and get some well-deserved sleep. I mean, if she gets to rest…"

"Marissa's mother, I presume," the doctor stepped forward, not offering her a hand in greeting or any other pleasantries. Mumbling softly under her breath, the physician stated, "I should have known."

"Known what," the redhead snapped, glaring at the health professional. "And, while I'm 

asking questions, why is my daughter on this floor? Just because a woman has a health issue, that does not automatically make it a female complaint. Christ, what century are we living in here?"

"Miss Cooper is on this floor, because she suffered from a placental abruption due to severe blunt force trauma to the abdomen."

"Not all of us have a PHD," Julie snapped, her garishly painted lips curling downward into an annoyed grimace. "Just speak in layman's terms."

"With a placental abruption, the placenta, or, to dumb it down for you, the sack that surrounds the baby which not only feeds and nourishes the fetus but also disposes of its waste, separates from the mother's uterus. In severe cases, such as Marissa's, when this occurs, life to the fetus can no longer be sustained. Severe bleeding can also be a complication. In essence," the older woman sighed, "your daughter has miscarried. We've administered IV fluids and given her a blood transfusion, because she is suffering from DIS, disseminated intravascular coagulation. Basically, we're having a difficult time stopping the bleeding, and, if we don't get it under control soon, we're going to have to perform a total hysterectomy."

"Now, what was this about, what did you call it… severe blunt force trauma to the abdomen?"

"To be frank, your daughter was nearly kicked to death by her fiancé, and," the doctor added, "the injuries did result in the termination of your first grandchild."

Julie stood up a little straighter, pushed back her shoulders, and glared at the OB-GYN in confrontation. "I don't believe you. Tanner is wonderful to us, to Marissa. He would never hurt her."

The redhead could see the brunette in the corner stand up, ready to practically charge her if necessary, but the doctor intervened and quickly calmed the younger woman down. As she turned back to her, the physician stated, "oh, I can assure you, Ma'am, that Mr. Meriden is very much responsible for your daughter's condition. In fact, the New York City Police Department currently have an arrest warrant out for him, and, as soon as he returns from his business trip, he will be taken into custody and, hopefully, if there is any justice in the world, denied bail. Although, from what I've heard about him and his crooked dealings, I highly doubt he'll get what he deserves.

"And before you even attempt to persuade me into believing this was all some big misunderstanding or a one-time occurrence," the woman continued before Julie had a chance to interject, "tell me, have you ever seen your daughter's medical records before? I doubt it, because, if you did, you wouldn't have the gall to stand there and defend the animal that put your child in that bed behind me. Why, just early today, I treated her for a dislocated shoulder, courtesy of one Tanner Meriden. She's had a broken collar bone in the past, broken rips, two broken wrists at different periods in time, and too many accounts of bruises and contusions to even begin to add them up. There are also some very interesting scarring on the small of her back, scarring that is consistent with a lashing sustained by either a whip or a belt. So, now that I've cleared that up, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and check the latest test results on your daughter's platelet count. And congratulations on the future son-in-law. Why it's every mother's dream to welcome a baby killer into the family."

Before she could retort back, there was a soft, almost imperceptible sound from the hospital bed across the room. "Wha…," her daughter gasped, her throat obviously dry and in pain from the oxygen tubes inserted into her nose. "What's wrong with my baby?"

"Marissa, I'm so sorry," the woman the redhead knew to be Summer attempted to comfort the crying blonde.

"No, no… Don't apologize when there's nothing to apologize for. I want…"

"Don't worry," Julie started to approach her daughter, holding out a hand towards her. "I'll call Tanner, and he'll be here as soon as he can. I promise."

But the only response she got was her hand slapped away before Marissa turned back to the brunette. "I want Ryan and my baby, Summer, please. I need you to get Ryan for me, and I need you to tell me how my baby is doing. It's okay, right; she's going to fine?"

She watched as a nurse administered what she could only assume to be a high dosed sedative to her daughter, and, almost immediately, Marissa's cries of desperation and panic diminished into quiet sobs and then ended all together, the only remaining sign that she had indeed woken up long enough to lose control were the dried tear tracks marring her otherwise ashen face.

"I think you've caused enough damage here," Summer announced, turning to level a pointed, defiant stare at the older woman. "Please leave."

"She is still my daughter."

"You might have given birth to her, but she hasn't really been your daughter in years, Julie," the disrespectful brunette declared boldly. "Either leave now on your own, or I'll have security drag you out of this hospital by the roots of your badly dyed hair. The choice is yours, but I wouldn't recommend testing me right about now. It's been a long day, and it's only going to be an even longer night, and I'm in no mood to deal with the likes of you. Go to your hotel," Summer dismissed her, waving her hand in a shooing motion, "go stay at the penthouse, hell, if you want to, fly back to California for all I care. I see now that it was a mistake to call you. You're not even fit to sit by your daughter's bedside, and your presence in this room is making me sick. Women like you don't deserve to have children, and I hope the knowledge that you stood back and allowed your daughter to be abused day after day, week after week, year after year eats at you, tears you up inside for the rest of your miserable, insignificant life. Get out of my sight."

And that's exactly what Julie did, pivoting around on her expensive designer heals and leaving the hospital room as quickly as her feet could carry her, determined to fix the mess Marissa had made out of her own life, no matter what she had to do.

It was just another boring, sleepless night in the Cohen household for Seth. Alone, because his parents were both already in bed and because Ryan had moved out that week into his own apartment, he sat sulking in the pool house, a melting tub of simple, very safe French vanilla ice cream seasoned with chucks of bananas, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream in his lap, leaving condensation rings on his Iron Man boxer shorts. It was a typical evening for the brunette, his television blaring to serve as a constant source of companionship. At that particular moment, he was watching Designing Women and fearing he would someday end 

up just like Suzanne Sugarbaker, chubby, misunderstood, and ridiculed. It was most definitely not something to look forward to, but, at the same time, it didn't stop him from dipping his already sticky spoon back into the ice cream container for another calorie laden bite.

Disrupting his one man pity party, the phone next to him on the bedside table started to ring, and, not wanting it to disturb his parents, he picked it up quickly, already offering the person on the other line a greeting despite not taking the time to check the caller ID. "Sethanne Cohenbaker speaking."

"Marissa lost the baby," he heard a somber, tear filled voice inform him over the line. Although it didn't sound the feisty woman he had talked to earlier in the day, the curly haired brunette knew it to be Summer Roberts. "She's in the hospital, sedated but out of critical condition. Right now, we're waiting on test results to see just how much damage Tanner did, to see if she'll be able to have children in the future or if she'll have to have an emergency hysterectomy to stop the hemorrhaging."

"Holy shit."

"It's bad, Seth," the crying woman confessed brokenly. "She woke up for just a few moments, hysterical. Her worthless mother was there at the time," a hard, bitter tone infused strength into her voice, "reassuring her that she'd get Tanner there as soon as possible."

"Well, seeing as how that animal was the one to put her in the hospital in the first place, I highly doubt that did any good."

"It didn't," the brunette stylist confirmed. "It just made Marissa even more upset. She started panicking, begging for both her baby and Ryan, and I just sat there, holding her hand, helpless. I mean, damn it, Seth," Summer yelled. He could hear the frustration in her voice. "I'm supposed to be her friend, I'm supposed to be able to do something to make this better for her, and, right about now, the only two people that woman has in her life to support her are me and Bernie…"

"Bernie," the freeloader parroted, needing clarification.

"He's her building supervisor, and I guess they're kind of friends, too. Actually," Summer added, "Ryan knows him. I guess he and Bernie met the afternoon Ryan found her unconscious from a beating she received from Tanner's belt."

"Classy."

"Isn't it," she asked rhetorically. He could just imagine her rolling her eyes at that very moment, too.

Surprising even himself at being the one to redirect the conversation back to the topic at hand, Seth attempted to ease the suffering woman's grief by just a little bit. "Marissa has more than just you and Bernie," he told her, trying to infuse his own voice with a note of confidence, hoping that, just maybe, he could pass it along through the phone line. "She has me, too, at least in spirit until I can get to New York."

"What?!"

"As soon as I can get a flight out of this godforsaken hellhole other people call a town, I'm coming to help. I don't know what exactly I'll be able to do. I am pretty good at going on coffee runs, though," he joked, making Summer laugh for the first time since their conversation started. "And, if I start practicing now, I might be able to make a passable balloon animal by the time my plane touches down in the morning. What do you say," he asked, pressing her. "How does a little company and a lot of really crappy comedy sound?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but it sound pretty good," the creative director admitted. "Can you do something else for me while you're at it?"

"Sure," Seth agreed. "Anything."

"Can you try to get in touch with your brother? I understand that he needed separation from everything that was going on here, but things have changed. Marissa was going to leave Tanner on her own because of this baby, and there's currently a warrant out for the ass' arrest. Marissa found her will to leave him," she stated passionately. "Now, it's time for Ryan to find his will to stay."

"I won't promise you results," the curly haired twenty-eight year old responded, "but I'll give it my all."

"Thanks, Seth."

"You're very welcome, Summer," he returned. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Clicking off the phone, he immediately started dialing his brother's cell while, at the same time, getting out of bed, turning the TV off, and throwing away his half eaten tub of ice cream. It didn't matter that the frozen food would melt all over the trash can and probably attract a wide assortment of multi-legged creatures eager for a free meal; the only thing that mattered was getting in touch with Ryan and getting the both of them to the airport as soon as possible. But his only sibling refused to answer his phone. Seth would let it ring, and ring, and ring, but it would only go to voicemail, and, every time it did, he would leave another message, never expecting his brother to actually call him back, just hoping that the stubborn blonde would eventually listen to what he had to say on the voicemails.

Ten minutes following hanging up the phone after his long distance conversation with Summer, the freeloader was ready to leave. Bag packed and dressed, albeit slightly absentmindedly seeing as how his socks didn't match, his shoes weren't laced, and he forgotten to zip his fly, he practically crashed out the pool house doors, leaving them open and blowing in the breeze behind him. In his car and on his way to LAX, he attempted one last ditch effort to reach Ryan.

Like before, the mobile rang and rang and rang, but, astonishingly enough, on the ninth ring, it was picked up just before the phone could go to voice mail. "What the hell do you want, Seth," his best friend exploded at him. "You know that I have a date tonight with Colleen…"

"Marissa's in the hospital. She was pregnant, the baby's not yours by the way, not that I think you would actually care at this point, but Tanner beat her so badly she suffered a miscarriage. Things were pretty touch and go there for a while, but she's out of critical condition. They're just waiting to see whether or not the bleeding stops, because, if it doesn't, she'll have to undergo an emergency hysterectomy, rendering her permanently unable to have children. She was leaving him before this all happened, and there's now an 

arrest warrant out for Tanner's arrest." All of this he said in one breath, without pause, and he wondered just how much of it his only sibling would have been able to understand. But he didn't attempt to say anything for a second time. "Oh, and by the way," Seth added snidely. "She's also begging for both you and her dead baby." And, with that, he snapped his phone shut before turning it off.

It was now up to Ryan to decide what he wanted to do; he could personally do no more except go to New York himself and hope that the woman his brother was in love with would make it out of the situation with both her health and her sanity intact. It was all anyone, but Ryan, could do for her.

Arriving at the appropriate gate at LAX nearly an hour and half later, Seth looked ahead and saw his older brother waiting for him. As he approached Ryan, the two men remained silent, obviously less than ready to either bridge their argument or to discuss what lay ahead of them in New York. Taking the offered, already paid for ticket from his only sibling's hand, the two men moved to board together, still not saying a word.

It took until they were finally seated, waiting for the plane to take off, for one of them to speak up, and it was Seth who decided to break the silence. Snidely, he inquired, "what happened to your date?" He knew it was childish, that he should let go of his disappointment in the doctor, because, in the end, Ryan had done the right thing, but he couldn't help his animosity or his lingering doubt that his brother's actions were actually sincere and not just out of pity towards Marissa or fear of being in the wrong.

In response, the blonde calmly stated, "it doesn't matter now." Swallowing thickly and glancing out the small window beside him, he continued, "nothing else matters now."

Sighing, Seth leaned back in his seat. He had his best friend back, the man he not only admired but loved, and the change of heart occurred just in the nick of time. Closing his eyes in preparation for takeoff and willing himself to sleep, he realized that they were all going to be okay now. He wasn't sure how or why or even when, but he had faith that, before things were said and done, all four of them – Ryan and Marissa, Summer, and even himself – would come out of their present situation better than they had been before when the whole started. Sure, he was a blind, foolish optimist, but, in his book, confidence was invaluable and always preferable over negativity.

His Nana Cohen would be so disappointed in him.